


wind me up and watch me go

by absoluteares



Category: Pretty Little Liars
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-19
Updated: 2013-07-19
Packaged: 2017-12-20 16:31:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,102
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/889427
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/absoluteares/pseuds/absoluteares





	wind me up and watch me go

  


  
_Poison, what’s yours_ they ask when she dances up to the bar. Emily laughs bitterly; her blood is toxic and no one has a clue. 

(Not unless they’ve loved her, been loved by her.)

_Something to make me forget,_ she wants to say. Asks for tequila instead. 

An attractive pair of legs appear in Emily’s peripheral, sardonically turning on her stool in a way only a Hastings could. “Don’t you think you’ve had enough?”

“Enough isn’t something I ever have, Spencer.” Emily signals the bartender and turns one shot of tequila into two. “You promised we’d have fun tonight and now is not the time to go back on your word.” 

“Fine. But I think you’ll want to get me a different drink.”

“Why’s that?”

“Because. Tequila makes me... friendly.”

“Talk-too-much friendly or you’ll-wake-up-in-my-bed-tomorrow friendly?”

“Both.”

A beat. “I don’t see the problem.”

Spencer eyes her for a long moment, breathes, “Emily.” 

Never before has Emily heard her name so drenched in warning, so lowly implied that she might actually be capable of finding the cracks in someone else’s resolve. She thinks she could like it (that is, if it didn’t make her feel so much like Alison). In fact, she thinks she could like most anything under the right circumstances and compared to the last few years of her life, not much else could be wrong. 

She downs both shots and sets her eyes on the dancefloor. Flashing white lights reflect on exposed shoulders as they twirl inbetween flickering blues and greens. A familiar face lights up at the sight of her and suddenly Emily’s night grows in its potential.

“How long has Paige been here?”

Spencer follows Emily’s gaze with reluctance. “All night. Why?”

A suspicious quirk of the brow. “You’ve been keeping tabs on her?”

“I... like to be aware of my surroundings.”

“Right, well, I’m thinking this party of two has room for one more.”

“You can’t be serious. Em, come on. Can’t we just talk?” 

Emily staggers, tries to focus on the floor beneath her feet rather than the desperation in Spencer’s voice. “Not tonight.”

“But --”

“Come dance with us or stay here but I’m going either way.”

It isn’t an ultimatum but it’s hardly an opportunity. No, to Emily it’s another hour that she somehow has to convince herself she can get through, and Paige’s smile looks a lot more inviting than holding her breath under the suffocating scrutiny of Spencer’s gaze.

-

“I think she’s watching us,” Paige says, an unreadable look on her face as she glances over Emily’s shoulder (and it’s impressive, really, that she can contain anything at all with those telling eyes of hers).

“Does that bother you?”

“Would it be weird to say I kind of like it?”

“In that case,” Emily reaches for Paige’s wrist, tugs and closes what little space there is between them, “kiss me.”

Paige doesn’t hesitate for once in her life and Emily feels undeniably wanted for once in hers. (To kiss Paige is to remember what it’s like to come up for air, head underwater for so long that she’d forgotten drowning wasn’t the only option.) 

“Em,” Paige whispers, slowly pulls away (just a few inches, but it’s enough to make Emily wonder if somewhere between losing Alison and losing Maya, she forgot how to swim). 

She knows it’s selfish, knows it’s too much to ask but Emily’s running on tequila and grief and not much else, so, “I just need right now,” she says, voice on a line somehow bordering needy, bitter, sad all at once. “Just right now.”

Emily almost forgets about Spencer, lost in the hum of Paige’s lips and fingertips, lost in the steady thumpthump of the music. The room seems to be pulsing when she feels the weight of long, thin fingers land on her shoulder. She opens her eyes, doesn’t recall closing them, turns her face enough to see the golden haze of Spencer’s eyes looking back at her.

“I can take it from here,” Spencer says from behind her, filling the air with electricity, and it causes Paige to tighten her hold on Emily. 

And Emily allows it, _welcomes it,_ the sensation of nails digging into her waist like losing her would be a worthy cause for warfare. But there have been enough casualties in her lifetime so she reaches a hand behind her, pulls Spencer in by the nape of her neck (and Emily guesses that Spencer helped herself to that tequila after all, her lips pressing open kisses along the curve of Emily’s shoulder blades). Paige’s kiss turns greedy then, primal, and Emily matches it with a ferocity she’s never known before.

Because this, not being treated like she’ll jump ship at any second, this is what she needs right now.

They dance like that for awhile, the three of them, and Emily can feel the tug of war she’s brought upon herself, the push and pull like stormy ocean tides. But they’re keeping her above water and so she keeps dancing, knotting her fist in the front of Paige’s vest, hips swaying at the silent insistence of Spencer’s hands on her waist and Paige’s hands in her hair.

-

(She feels sick.)

-

Emily disappears into the crowd without a word (and she’ll hate herself in the morning for takingtakingtaking and still leaving Paige behind). She thinks she hears someone calling her name and wishes the ghosts in her head would just leave her alone, wishes she could breathe.

A hand slips into hers just as she finds the exit that leads to the parking lot, thinks for a second that it might be Paige, finds it’s Spencer’s glassy eyes looking at but not down on her. Together they prop themselves against the brick wall outside and stay there for a bit, just long enough for Emily to feel the night air creeping into her lungs. 

She realizes Spencer’s still clutching her hand when she says, “You’re a hell of a dancer.”

Emily laughs at that, actually laughs and the feeling is so bright that she can’t help but lean in to press her smile against Spencer’s. And Spencer is vigorous in her reciprocation, so much in fact that when she pulls away she seems almost surprised by herself.

“Tequila,” Spencer murmurs, lips curling at the sound of Emily’s laughter.

-

Emily lets Spencer hold her hand on the cab ride home, glad to feel like it’s because Spencer wants to --

(like all the poison in the world, in her blood, could never keep Spencer away)

\-- and not just because she thinks Emily needs it. 

(She needs it.)

  



End file.
